


Flowers, Folded Notes, Medical Scanners

by pantswarrior



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Kink Meme, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantswarrior/pseuds/pantswarrior
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just after Joanna McCoy graduates from the Academy and is accepted to a starship's crew, her father gets the call every parent dreads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers, Folded Notes, Medical Scanners

He doesn't cry, or even react much at all, when he gets the news. If he were thinking entirely rationally, he would think it was because he's in shock, but since he's not thinking rationally - he just thinks that it's impossible. This was some kind of mistake, some stupid prank that isn't the least bit funny. A trick, maybe. They've run into enough crazy manipulative alien races that it seems all too possible that this is something else just trying to draw a reaction out of them. After all, he doesn't know the man on the screen from any other human wearing a Starfleet captain's uniform aside from Jim. Maybe he doesn't even exist.  
  
But in the back of his mind, the part that still seems to be ticking away instead of freezing up, he still feels this pinprick of fear, like maybe it's not a trick. Maybe it's really happening. And if it is, any of the things he's thinking of saying to this guy claiming to be Captain Perkins would be pretty inappropriate.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir," the man says again, seriously.  
  
McCoy shakes himself a little, not sure if he wants to pull himself together or fall apart. If this is real, if it's really happened, there are things he needs to know, but he doesn't want to ask. Asking would mean he actually believed it. "No, s'okay," he manages to mumble. "Not your fault," he adds, because he's seen Jim make these kinds of calls himself often enough.  
  
"Thank you." Perkins hesitates, and answers the questions McCoy couldn't bring himself to ask without being prompted. "We're holding a preliminary memorial service aboard our ship tonight, for the crew alone, but there will be another ceremony for friends and family at the Academy on Earth in two days."  
  
She'd only just _left_ the Academy, McCoy thinks. This is impossible. But if it isn't... "I'll see what I can do."  
  
"If you're willing, we'd be glad to have you say a few words."  
  
McCoy's not sure how many words he remembers, aside from the ones which, as noted, are pretty damn inappropriate. "...We'll see."  
  
Perkins seems to understand, and he nods. "Your daughter was a credit to the service, sir. Brave to the end."  
  
"She always was." McCoy supposes that proper etiquette means he should say something more to the man, who technically outranks him, but he doesn't care much, and reaches out to cut off the transmission. He doesn't want to hear anymore.  
  
He's still staring at that blank screen, though, hearing it over and over again in his head, when his speaker chirps. "Bones, I know it's a little late, but can you meet me in the briefing room in ten minutes? I have something to discuss with all my senior staff."  
  
"Yeah, sure," he replies automatically, and only thinks about it afterwards. Well, what else is he going to do, when all he's been doing is sitting there staring at a dark monitor. Dark, snuffed out, just like...  
  
He rubs a hand over his face and gets to his feet. He has to talk to Jim anyway, and he'd just as soon do it before anyone else is present.  
  
Except that no matter how early he arrives, naturally Spock's there earlier. That's the last thing he wants to deal with, but as soon as he enters, Jim looks like he wants to ask something, and McCoy would rather not give him the chance. "We're not too far out, Jim, and there's nothing pressing at the moment - think we could stop by Earth for a couple of days?"  
  
"Unfortunately, that's what I was calling this meeting to discuss," Jim replies. "We just got new orders. As soon as I'm done filling everyone in on the details, we're going to be setting a course for the Zayran system."  
  
"In that case, unless it's something you really need _me_ for, I'd like to request a temporary leave of absence," McCoy says, and he can feel his hands starting to tremble, so he clasps them behind his back the way Spock does. He hates saying it, because he knows Jim will ask, and he doesn't want to answer. "You don't have to go all the way back, just drop me at the nearest starbase."  
  
Sure enough. "Why? What's wrong?"  
  
...If he says it aloud, it'll make it more real. He doesn't want that, especially when Spock's standing there, all stoic and unemotional aside from a slight look of curiosity. McCoy glances at him, then back to Jim, who looks unabashedly concerned. More so when McCoy opens his mouth to reply, and can't find anything at all he can say. "...Bones?" Jim prompts him, coming around the end of the table to approach him.  
  
"It's... Joanna." That's as much as he can make himself say.  
  
Jim looks surprised, and more concerned, at once. "She just got assigned to the Mayflower, didn't she? Was she hurt?"  
  
McCoy shakes his head, slightly. He can't make himself say it, even as two separate statements. "...Worse," is the closest he can come.  
  
"You mean..." McCoy averts his eyes, not quite flinching (because it's not real, he hasn't said it, it's not real), but Jim can't make himself say it either. "Oh god, Bones," he finishes instead, and reaches out to place his hands on McCoy's shoulders. "What happened?"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," he mutters. "Can I have that temporary leave? There's a service..."  
  
"Of course you can." Jim sounds almost offended, and squeezes his shoulders for a moment. "In fact, never mind those new orders. They're not time-sensitive, and I'd like to come with you."  
  
"You don't have to come with me, Jim."  
  
"I _want_ to come with you," Jim insists. "You're my friend, Bones - you should have your friends with you at a time like this."  
  
"I agree," Spock speaks up. "I also wish to accompany you, doctor, as you have stood with me during difficult circumstances."  
  
McCoy thinks he hates Spock for real for a change when he looks over to see him _still_ all stoic and unemotional. It's not so much that he thinks Spock should feel something, or envies him for not feeling anything - he knows perfectly well that Vulcan has feelings, even if he tries not to show them. It's more like he's so numb himself at the moment that he can't feel a thing, even though he knows he should, and that makes _him_ just like what Spock is trying to be in his most annoying, irritating moments.  
  
"I don't want you there," he says, after a moment's thought. "No offense. I just... don't." He's not even entirely sure why himself, and he might change his mind later, but as of this moment? He wants to be alone. "Since I won't be going on that Zayran mission, mind if I go back to my quarters? I'll call sickbay and send Dr. M'Benga up in my place."  
  
"That's fine," Jim agrees softly. "Bones, if there's anything we can do for you..."  
  
He shakes his head. They're even less qualified than he is to bring back the dead, and that's the only thing that would fix this. "Thanks, but I'm all right."  
  
He is, even if he's sleepwalking his way back to his quarters, everything around him muted like he's underwater. He's as exhausted as he was back in med school, when he was pulling twenty-four hour shifts after a full day of classes. Exhausted, but all right. He still hasn't cried, and after he calls M'Benga and finds a comfortable position on his bed, he still doesn't.  
  
A couple times in the next couple hours, he thinks he'll get up and pour himself a nice strong drink. Maybe it'll put him to sleep. But somehow he doesn't even manage to roll over, let alone get out of bed. It's starting to sink in, just like a blade slowly working its way into his heart, and it hurts.  
  
It hurts so badly he's having trouble breathing, but he understands it as a physiological response to severe emotional trauma, perfectly normal, and largely ignores the feeling that he's smothering slowly. No matter what he feels, he's still alive. Even if she isn't. Even if his little girl stopped breathing, even if the shell of her is cold and still and hollow. That precious little girl who was a part of him, literally; he's not dead, but a part of him is.  
  
It's the first time he's let himself admit it. She's dead. He's never going to see her or speak to her or hug her again.  
  
Still, he's only hyperventilating. He doesn't understand why, when he's starting to acknowledge the enormity of what's happened, he's only hyperventilating.  
  
But then there's this traitorous, horrifying, completely unemotional and rational voice in the back of his head, bent on self-preservation - and god help him, it sounds like Spock - that points out that this doesn't change much, it shouldn't disrupt his life so much as all that; it wasn't as if he'd been close to Joanna for many years.  
  
 _That's_ what makes him break down, and he rolls over, sobbing so hard he nearly chokes.  
  
\---  
  
He should have known the worst wasn't over, and in fact the next twenty-four are the worst he's ever known. Jim comes to see him in sickbay the next morning, and McCoy tries to get rid of him quickly. It's good to know they're postponing the mission a couple days, to avoid the necessity of coordinating his return trip to wherever the Enterprise might be by the time he's done, but beyond that? He just wants to do his job, and not talk about anything else.  
  
Fortunately, Jim and Spock don't seem to have spread the word - or if they have, his staff are smart enough not to let on that they know. No one treats him gently, no one says a word of sympathy. Not even when he's looking over a young lady who's on temporary leave from sciences because her belly's so big that she looks like she could pop any second. McCoy checks her and her baby over, confirms that everything's going normally, and that she'll likely go into labor in a day or so. He doesn't need to be there for that - women have been giving birth without medical assistance since humanoids evolved, Chapel's got plenty of experience, and even if something goes wrong, M'Benga and Sanchez are more than merely competent.  
  
Nothing's going to go wrong, though. The expectant mother is strong, healthy, thrilled about the baby's impending arrival. The baby himself is of a good size, properly developed, and positioned in such a way that the birth should go smoothly. Even so, McCoy feels sorry for the poor girl, up until he remembers that statistically speaking, most parents don't outlive their children. It's only him - he happened to draw the short straw. Then McCoy just feels bitter, but he's used to doing his job while feeling bitter. He's always had a knack for drawing the short straw. Just look at what happened when he outlived _his_ father.  
  
The Enterprise gets back to Earth a little ways into beta shift. It hasn't been a full Earth day since he got word, and against all rationality, for a second he thinks that there's still time for it to be a mistake. He shouldn't beam down when at any moment, someone might call and tell him it was just an error, his daughter's perfectly safe.  
  
He doesn't want to beam down anyway - it's been a while since he was as wary of transporters as he suddenly is, and wonders if it's the grief churning up the old phobia, or the phobia trying to give him an excuse. But when it comes time to step onto that pad, he realizes that he doesn't really give a shit if his molecules are scattered across the cosmos. Not today.  
  
Jim's there, of course. "You're sure you don't want Spock and I to come with you?"  
  
McCoy shakes his head. He doesn't want to see anyone at all. Except Jo.  
  
Jim takes his hand and squeezes it anyway before the transporter powers up. Spock, standing by the technician on duty, simply gives him a respectful nod.  
  
He rematerializes in front of one of the assembly halls, the one where the service will be held the next day. There are a couple alumni there to meet him, offer condolences, show him to the housing designated for friends and family of the deceased. Once he's dropped off the bag containing his dress uniform, McCoy doesn't stick around in the silent room - he needs some air.  
  
He hasn't been back at the Academy for about ten years, but he still remembers his way around just fine. All the old buildings where he learned alien biology, basic self-defense, psychology - the things he hadn't needed to learn when he was just planning on being an old-fashioned doctor in Georgia. That assembly hall sticks in his head; the first time he'd gone to a memorial ceremony in that building, he'd been the attending physician. He hadn't known the cadet before he'd been brought in gasping for air like a fish out of water, and the whole thing hadn't upset McCoy too badly, because he'd already seen death plenty of times, and he'd known he'd be seeing it again before he was through. It had just seemed like the thing to do, to see the kid all the way to the end.  
  
As a surgeon, he's been pretty well-acquainted with death - not to the point where he likes seeing it, but by now they have a sort of mutual understanding in their rivalry. He sees it coming, and he knows when it's won, and vice versa. Once it comes for him, he might have some regrets - anyone who says they wouldn't is a liar, he thinks - but he won't be afraid. There are some things, though, that he wouldn't let anyone or anything touch, even death itself. That had included Joanna.  
  
He makes himself breathe deeply, and wanders a little longer. A few months ago, she was right here, maybe walking down this same path between Biology and Physics. It makes him feel like she's not quite so far away as she is, like she might have left something of herself here for him to find. And then, too, he walked down this same path many years ago himself. He finds himself wondering if she thought of that while walking this path, and if it made _her_ feel like her dad wasn't so far away.  
  
It's dark by the time he heads back to housing, hoping he's worn himself out enough to sleep. He doesn't get the chance to find out, though, because he happens to run into someone in the lobby; he'd figured he'd see her at some point during all of this, but seeing her now, for the first time in a decade, feels like getting punched in the chest. His first thought, after the initial shock, is that she looks old. Older than the years apart should have accounted for, but he feels like he's aged ten years overnight, so why shouldn't she?  
  
She's alone and so is he, so there are no courtesies to fall back on. She looks at him, he looks at her, and finally he just murmurs her name. "...Jocelyn."  
  
She nods. "I wondered," she says, and there's an undertone of accusation in her words, "if I'd be seeing you here."  
  
He stiffens, almost snaps at her that that's the stupidest damn thing anyone's said to him in his entire life, but... it's fair. He'd been away for a long time. He'd come back for her graduation from school, briefly, but not her graduation from the Academy - the Enterprise had been too far out. They'd been writing letters back and forth, but all the same... McCoy nodded. "I had to be."  
  
Her expression twists bitterly, and she almost spits the words at him. "As usual, Len, you're a little late."  
  
This time, he can't help himself. "Don't you think I know that? For _crying out loud_ , Jocelyn - do you really think I wouldn't have wanted to see her again, even just one more time? _You're_ the one who drove me away from her - you're the reason I wasn't here in the first place!"  
  
"Don't you even start trying to blame me," she shoots back. " _You_ drove you away from both of us. If you'd paid more attention-"  
  
"What, you wouldn't have cheated on me?" This is an inappropriate discussion to be having in a public place, and he knows it, but he's been holding that pain back for close to twenty years now. There's no room for both the old pain and the new pain without one overflowing, and the old pain's found the perfect target. "I wasn't the one who broke those vows we made - till death do us part? Remember that?"  
  
"You might as well have been dead, for all the good it did Jo and I!"  
  
"You can't tell me you didn't know what you were getting into, marrying a doctor," he snaps. "I had professional responsibilities!"  
  
"You had responsibilities to your family, too," Jocelyn retorts. "You broke your vows long before I broke mine."  
  
He feels as if his head might explode from the sheer rage her words are driving him to. They're both distraught, out of control, but knowing that doesn't help him to stop. "Responsibilities to my family? You took that away from me - you took my _daughter_ away from me!" he shouts, and doesn't care if they're attracting stares.  
  
"Well, then, I guess we're even now, aren't we?" she says, nearly choking on the words.  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?!"  
  
" _You_ took my daughter away from _me!_ " Suddenly she's crying as much as arguing. "Do you know why she joined Starfleet? She wanted you to be proud of her - she wanted _your_ approval!"  
  
...That's crazy. He would've been proud of Jo, he thinks, no matter what she chose to do. She was his little girl, the only one he had, he knew how precious she was. Sure, he'd been thrilled when she decided to start pre-med, and when she'd written him saying she was going to the Academy, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have been just as proud of her if she'd stayed on Earth, been an actress or a scientist or a sanitation worker...  
  
He isn't sure he ever told her that. He'd say it now, but Jocelyn's not the one with the need to hear it, and besides, his throat's closed up. He can't make a sound.  
  
"She wanted to join Starfleet because _you_ joined Starfleet! It was for _your_ sake that she got on that starship to die out there in the middle of nowhere," Jocelyn finishes, reaching into a pocket for a tissue, before she aims another vicious glare at him. "I hope you're next."  
  
She stalks off then, heading to the lifts, and he's left standing there, stunned and more horrified than he'd been the day before. For _his_ sake...  
  
If anyone had been staring, their eyes are carefully averted by the time he collects himself enough to look around the lobby. He feels weak, he's still shaking with anger and with shame, and collapsing in his bed would have sounded like a good option if he thought he could sleep. Since he's sure he can't, he heads outside again instead.  
  
He's in no condition for it, and it only occurs to him that he hasn't eaten anything since a couple bites of breakfast that morning when he's already caught a shuttle across town, to a little place he used to visit when he was at the Academy himself, and taken advantage of the fact that they still stock a few drinks that aren't listed on the menu for legal reasons. It's hitting him like phaser fire, but he deserves a little misery, or a lot.  
  
Because his little girl is dead, and all because she thought she had to _win_ his approval.  
  
He drinks until he can't remember that anymore, and the thought's so pervasive that it takes longer than it should have.  
  
\---  
  
He figures he deserves the next morning's hangover, and not just for being stupid the night before. Being stupid his whole life, maybe, he thinks as he kneels to get the dress uniform out of his pack, and isn't sure he can stand up again.  
  
Even if he deserves it, he'll never make it through the service at this rate. When he does manage to stand up, he decides to brave the sunlight and head for the clinic. They're aware of who he is, no matter how terrible he looks - ridiculous as it seems to him, he's kind of infamous. There's talk, and he doesn't acknowledge or put any stock in it because it's just talk, that he could make surgeon general someday after he's left active duty. So if Dr. Leonard McCoy shows up at a Starfleet medical installation and asks for a hypo each of painkiller and nutritional supplement (because he's not planning on breakfast today) - then by god, they'll give it to him.   
  
They're already kicking in by the time he heads back towards housing, enough that he can glare up at the sun and silently ask how it can dare to shine on a day like this. Not that he can talk about shining, when he has to get into that dress uniform with all its metallic braid and glossy medals.  
  
In spite of the delay caused by last night's drinking, he's ready early, and thanks to the hypos, in passable physical condition. Even so, he just sits on the bed, staring at the wall, and tells himself he doesn't have to go there yet. He tells himself that over and over, right up until he admits that if he's going to go - and he has to - he doesn't want to be late.  
  
He's put it off for so long, though, that there's not much time before the service starts. Only enough for him to go up front, see where they've projected a picture of her in her uniform front and center behind the podium. The picture's different than he expected; he remembers her writing that she cut her hair short again when she started actually working as a nurse, just to keep it from getting in her way. She'd sent a picture along, and a few more after that. She must have grown it out again recently - she's pictured wearing it up, kind of like Christine. She looks so professional and grown-up that his heart's breaking all over again. He stands there staring at that picture, nodding brief acknowledgment to those who approach and offer their sympathies while he burns that smile of hers into his mind.  
  
There's a chaplain running the service, and they start out with a brief summary of Joanna's life - her studies, her hobbies, her decision to join Starfleet, and eventually the circumstances surrounding her death. There had been an accident on her first away mission, when an officer slid down the side of a cliff that crumbled beneath him. They couldn't beam him off the narrow ledge that kept him from being completely lost, due to atmospheric interference, and although they had cable for occasions like this, the man's hand and arm had been so badly injured that he couldn't grasp it.  
  
So what did Jo do? She'd done the same kind of idiotic thing _he_ would have done, and climbed down to that ledge to see if she could fix it. She couldn't, just with the portable kit she'd brought, but she'd tied that cable around the man good and secure so they could hoist him out. But then, when they dropped another cable for her, the officers at the top felt the rock beneath their feet crumbling, someone lost his footing...  
  
McCoy hadn't known any of this, except that it was an away team accident. He'd been too shocked to ask how it had happened. If he hadn't been in the service so long himself, it would be easy to be angry at those other officers, the one for getting himself in such a mess that he needed rescuing and the others for not getting her back up fast enough. But he's acted as field medic himself, and he's always known Jo's a smart girl. There was no way she hadn't known the danger she was placing herself in, and she'd made the choice to go down there anyway.  
  
His heart feels like it's swelling in his chest, but it's his eye that overflows. She didn't need to do any of that for him to be proud of her, but he couldn't be _more_ proud of her than he is right now.  
  
The service is turned over to friends and family, for them to say a few words in remembrance. One of her friends from the Academy - he remembers hearing her mention Jill, who's still there working as an instructor - talks about her always taking time for her friends even with her busy schedule, and wants to play Jo's favorite song, the one they used to sing along with to get themselves psyched for exams. McCoy didn't know it was Jo's favorite song, he's never even heard the song before, but it's upbeat and optimistic and gets laughs as well as tears from the cadets and young officers in the crowd.  
  
And there are so many of them in attendance. He looks around at them while Jocelyn's speaking, reading something off a paper and wiping her eyes repeatedly, because he doesn't want to hear the sound of her voice. So many young people, most of them probably set to head out into space themselves within a year's time.  
  
When he's invited up to say a few words himself, he can't say what he really wants to say. Starfleet would be pretty unhappy with him if he told all these kids to get out, go home before their parents have to go through what he's going through now. Save space exploration for washed-up folks like him, who don't have anything left to lose. But even if he could, he wouldn't. He knows they need these kids. Young people with determination and courage like Jo's are what keeps Starfleet moving ahead into the future... it's just that he already hates losing them, and this has just made it worse. He's probably going to be torn up even looking at Chekov for awhile.  
  
Since he can't say any of that, he doesn't know what to say at all. He's no orator. He's a doctor - but today, that's not right either, and that's what he decides to say.  
  
"...I'm not here as a doctor today, or as a Starfleet officer," he begins. "I'm just here as a father, Joanna's father. And all I really want to say is, I loved my daughter..." He has to pause and swallow the lump in his throat. "...and I'm really proud of her. Always have been. I hope she knew that."  
  
His voice almost cracks on the last word, and he steps away from the podium, keeping his head down as he returns to his seat.  
  
He spends most of the rest of the service with a hand covering his face, not really listening to what's being said, because none of it's important. It won't bring her back, or tell her what she should have been told. But even so, when it's over, he doesn't get up to leave. He just sits there, unmoving, as people come up to leave little trinkets beneath her portrait and then file out. The chaplain comes by, rests a hand on his shoulder, and asks if he's all right. He just says he needs a moment.  
  
The room's silent eventually, and he dares to lift his head. But then, behind him, tentative footsteps in high-heeled shoes. When he turns to look back, it's Jocelyn standing there in her long black dress, and she looks as awful as he feels.  
  
"Len," she says, soft and shaky as she sits down beside him. "What I said yesterday... I shouldn't have said that."  
  
His own voice just sounds dull, worn-out. "'S true, isn't it?"  
  
She shakes her head, trembling, and McCoy doesn't think it's so much an answer as denial. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it," she repeats, and slips an arm around his back. "I just... wanted..."  
  
He knows what she wanted. It's the same thing anyone wants in a situation like this, some kind of reason. Something they can look at and say if this had been different, we wouldn't be here now. There are tears rolling down Jocelyn's cheeks, and in spite of everything, he lifts a hand to wipe them away.  
  
Somehow, and he's not quite sure how, the hand on her cheek turns into a kiss, and the kiss turns into something deeper, with his hands all tangled up in her hair and her arms pulling him closer. She's the only person in the universe who knows how he feels, he thinks desperately, and he drinks it in, lusting after that understanding. Other parents might have lost other children, but they're the only parents who've lost Joanna.  
  
He has this crazy idea to just pick her up, like he used to do when they were younger, and carry her back to his room and ravish her, lose himself in this pain they both share. But he stops, his head resting against hers and breathing her breath, acknowledging that they're not young newlyweds anymore. And for that matter, there might be another who understands, at least to a degree. "...You still married to whats-his-face?" he murmurs.  
  
She makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-sob. "You know his name. And yes, I am..."   
  
Which means they shouldn't be carrying on this way, and she draws back a little, though both of her hands are still in his. "But he's not here...?"  
  
"Business has been good," she says quietly, her eyes lowered. "Someone had to mind the store, so to speak. He told me to go ahead."  
  
That's so damn stupid that McCoy has to roll his eyes. "You sure know how to pick 'em."  
  
She squeezes his hands tighter, recognizing he's not insulting her husband, but doesn't say anything. "...What about you?"  
  
"On my own, as usual." He doesn't want to get into that business with Natira - too complicated, and the end result is the same. "Not entirely alone," he adds, thinking of Jim and Spock, how supportive they'd been both then and now. "I've got a couple of the best friends in the universe. But I guess you were right about me and my busy schedule."  
  
This time, she speaks up against his self-deprecation. "...I found some old diskettes in Jo's room, full of transmissions from deep space..."  
  
"Yeah... I've got a bunch of those too." He'd wondered if it was a little strange to save all their correspondence, but he's glad now that he did. Maybe he'll have a look at them, when he's ready.  
  
"She'd never said a word." Jocelyn sighs, and draws back a little further. "I suppose that's fair... if I'd known she always wanted to be just like you-"  
  
"That wouldn't have been a pleasant conversation," McCoy finishes, and almost chuckles.  
  
"No, it wouldn't," she agrees, with a faint smile. She leans in and kisses him again, this time on the cheek. "If you want to talk about her, though..."  
  
He nods. He's sure he will, and so will she. So for once in his life... "I can find the time."  
  
It makes him feel a little better, but once she's gone, he wanders up front again, looking at the pile of little gifts well-wishers have left for his little girl. Flowers, plush animals, folded notes... Though she died as a Starfleet officer, to him she'll always be his little girl, following in her dad's footsteps.  
  
A memory comes to mind suddenly, and he reaches into his pants pocket; there are some things he's gotten in the habit of carrying with him always. Along with the usual identification and whatnot, there's a medical scanner.   
  
When she was a baby, she was fascinated by the way the things spun, following them with her eyes and reaching for them with chubby little fingers. And then as she got a little older, they'd play make-believe; she was the nurse, he was the doctor, and he'd diagnose her stuffed animals with silly ailments, most of which could be cured by going to bed on time, and maybe a cookie. He hadn't been there for her first steps, and Jocelyn had thrown that in his face plenty of times, but at least he'd been around for moments like that.  
  
Technically it's Starfleet's property, but they've got plenty, and it's the only thing he can think of that seems right between them. He nestles the tiny instrument in among the flowers, and turns to go before the tears start welling up again.  
  
\---  
  
He doesn't even bother changing once he gets back to housing, just grabs his pack and gets on the communicator. He wants to get away from there.  
  
Since he's so quick, Jim's not there to greet him when they beam him aboard, which is fine, because he doesn't want to be asked how he's doing, or if he's all right, or how it was. It was what it was. He is how he is, and even if he's gotten a little comfort out of it, he's still pretty good and broken.  
  
He can deal with it, though. In his quarters, he gets back into his scrubs, intending to head down to sickbay, see how everything's going. Maybe there'll be something he has to do. But on the other hand, it's not as if he can just pretend it hasn't happened anymore. Not after all of that. Maybe first he should... Yes, getting someone below to send him a copy of that picture they used at the service will be easier before the Enterprise leaves orbit for the Zayran system, so he sends down the request.  
  
He gets a reply almost immediately, and has it displayed on his screen when someone requests entry. Jim, of course, and Spock's a couple steps behind as usual. Jim's eyes go to the picture at once. "...She's a lovely girl, Bones."  
  
Jim would know lovely girls. "You wouldn't have had a chance, you know," McCoy tells him. "She'd have seen through you in a heartbeat."  
  
"I'm sure she would have," Jim concedes, looking to him instead. "She was _your_ daughter, after all."  
  
But Jim can see through him just like he can see through Jim. The fond look turns to sympathy, and suddenly McCoy's being hugged, embraced in Jim's arms and just held tight. It's not like it was with Jocelyn, where he needed to know someone else felt the same way he did, especially since he knows Jim doesn't. But it's a different kind of comfort, being held like this by someone who doesn't know his pain. Jim just knows _him_ , and he appreciates that even more. He's grateful enough to accept that comfort, burying his head in Jim's shoulder and letting himself be held for a little while.  
  
It's kind of awkward, because he knows Spock's still there, just standing a few paces away. McCoy doesn't expect Spock's waiting his turn for a hug, because Spock doesn't care for physical comforts, what with being a touch-telepath. And then there's his discomfort with emotions, which are swimming around in McCoy's heart like nobody's business, now including anger. If that Vulcan's just standing there to _observe_ displays of illogical human emotion, or look down on him for them, at a time like this, he's going to _really_ give him something to look down on.  
  
But after a moment, he hears Spock step closer, and after another moment, he feels a warm hand placed upon his arm. It's not a hug, but...  
  
Spock's chosen to share his pain. McCoy closes his eyes, lets himself sink into all the support his friends can offer. "Thanks, you two," he murmurs.  
  
"Anytime," Jim tells him. "Anytime at all."  
  
"You are, after all, our friend," Spock replies, quite logically.  
  
More than that, McCoy thinks to himself. They may not be related biologically or legally, but they're his family. Maybe he should have let them come along, because it feels better than he'd have expected, having their support when he feels this weak and helpless.  
  
But it doesn't matter, as long as they're here now. He sighs, and feels the hand on his arm tighten, and Jim's arms squeeze a little tighter too.  
  
He's able to talk about it, once they've let go and settled down to listen. He's able to process it now, to explain how it happened, because they're his friends and they want to understand what he's dealing with.   
  
That includes the worst part. "She wouldn't have been there if it wasn't for me."  
  
Spock raises an eyebrow. "I fail to see the reason for such a belief."  
  
"She joined Starfleet to make me proud. She wanted to be like her dad."  
  
Jim frowns. "That's not a bad thing, Bones. It's not even an unusual thing. I enlisted because I admired _my_ father - he inspired me to live my life in the service."  
  
"And I will note," Spock points out, "that had she had other aspirations more important to her than serving in Starfleet, she most likely would have chosen them - whether or not you approved, much less took pride in her choice."  
  
Spock would know. Even his fully-Vulcan father's pride had been kind of obvious, no matter how much he pretended they were at odds. McCoy hates it when Spock's right, but in this case, he can deal with a little less emotionalism, more logic. "Thanks," he mutters. "I just wish I'd told her... She didn't have to try so hard."  
  
"I'm sure she knew that," Jim assures him. "You were writing back and forth to her all the time, weren't you? You took the time to listen to her, and connect with her. I don't know if you ever said it in as many words, because I don't know what you said in those letters, but just as an outside observer? Even I could tell that you loved your daughter."  
  
"Yeah, I told her in as many words." McCoy sighs, resting his head in one hand. "I just wish I'd made it clearer that it wasn't because she was going into medical, or enlisting, or anything else she's done to be like me. She was Jo... That was all she needed to be."  
  
"Might I propose a theory, doctor?" Spock inquires.  
  
"A theory, huh...?" McCoy has no idea what he's on about now. "Sure, go ahead."  
  
"You have told us of the situation which led to Joanna's death," Spock begins. "If you had been placed in the same position, on an away mission with a wounded party trapped and unrecoverable without placing another in danger, what would you have done?"  
  
Spock knows this. He's seen them all in that position plenty of times. "I'd have done exactly what she did, I would've gone down there to help him."  
  
"Then who," Spock inquires, "would you be attempting to gain the approval of by doing so?"  
  
McCoy gives him an incredulous look. "No one - I'd be doing it because it was the right thing to..." He gets what Spock's saying halfway through the sentence.  
  
So does Jim. "She didn't do it because she wanted to be just like you," Jim concludes. "She did it because she _was_ just like you."  
  
"And therefore, if she wanted to not only inspire pride, but also be just like you," Spock adds, "she achieved her goals. I believe that in humans, this commonly results in emotions such as 'happiness'."  
  
McCoy nods. They have a point, and they are making him feel a little better, but... "...But she's still gone."  
  
"It's going to take some time, Bones," Jim murmurs, and scoots closer to give him another hug that ends with Jim's arm still around his shoulders. "Anytime you want to talk about it, let me know."  
  
"And I," Spock says, "would be pleased to offer you assistance in finding logic, if you discover that your illogical emotions prevent you from doing so yourself."  
  
McCoy can't help but laugh, because that's what starts half their arguments. But laughing feels good. Almost like things are approaching normal.  
  
\---  
  
He actually falls asleep on his own that night, probably because the sleep he got the night before was so unproductive, or maybe he's just that drained. Unfortunately, he gets a call in the middle of the night, and it's Chapel, asking if he can come down to sickbay - Lieutenant Cruz has been in labor for awhile. Everything's fine so far, especially for a first-time birth, but they'd appreciate him having a look just in case.  
  
He knows then that someone told her. Christine would have called him earlier if they hadn't. But she isn't saying anything about it, just telling him there's something for him to do. Something he usually enjoys, in fact - what with seeing so many people leave the universe, it's always a joy to bring a new life into it. And then, too, there had always been a nostalgic sort of feeling, remembering Jo and the day she was born, the day he became a father. He doesn't know how recent events might change that, but it doesn't matter how he feels. It's his job.  
  
When he's checking Cruz over and realizes she's fully dilated, that's when he's _sure_ Christine knows. Took care of all the painful stuff, and called him in for the happy ending. He does appreciate it, and after patting Cruz's hand and telling her it won't be long, he gives Christine a nod and a muted, grateful smile.  
  
Just as he figured, everything goes smoothly, and they don't _really_ need him there, except to confirm that everything's going smoothly. The memories are bittersweet this time when he sees those tiny lungs fill up with air and hears the thin cry, and while Chapel's bathing the little boy, McCoy steps away and just collects himself.  
  
The mother's joy is enough to keep him from falling into self-pity, and he watches with a faint smile as Chapel hands the woman her new son, clean and dry. Most of the people on the Enterprise probably don't even know he had a daughter, let alone what he's dealing with now, but when he's giving Lt. Cruz a few tips, his list is one item longer. Jim and Spock may have put his mind at ease a little bit, but it's worth saying.  
  
"And always let him know you love him, that you're proud of him no matter what crazy thing he does. It's one of those things you just can't say enough."  
  
She can't know he's speaking from personal experience, but she nods. Almost absently, paying more attention to her son than to her doctor, but that's as it should be.


End file.
